Confines of Truth

by Nouvelle Bardot

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We had been driving for days. I stopped counting roadsigns, stopped watching the clock. I kept a stack of books at my feet, blazing through them over and over until I had absorbed every page, every breath the writer breathed in unison to their work. And I slept, deep meditative sleep that only a long car ride can bring.

I had fallen asleep that morning, after a horrendously large pile of pancakes, and not given any thought to anything else. I was awoken sometime later to my grandmother’s face hovering over mine. Her permed hair, her purple eyeshadow, and her lingering scent of cheap hotel soap ravaged my vision and blocked my sinuses.

“VernaIamsohappytoseeyoucomehereeee,” she breathed in one long stretch of a word, grasping me, still half concious and strapped down into the seat, once again unable to escape the confines of truth. We had arrived.

“Betty, good to see ya,” I said grumpily, “Now shove off.”

“Oh Verna, I haven’t seen you in so long,” she breathed, stepping back to take a look at me.

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Comments

Average Reader Rating: 5.0 stars out of 5

  1. Confines of Truth

    THX 0477's Buddy Icon THX 0477

    Posted 6 months ago

    Ah grandmothers. Not exactly a warm interaction, but I suppose an awakening like that might cause such a response.
    And back to the old icon? Interesting.
    LoA

  2. Confines of Truth

    SKermitgorf's Buddy Icon SKermitgorf

    Posted 6 months ago

    5.0 out of 5 stars

    What a hoot grandma is.. and what a surly teen.. classic.
    LoA

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